While the experience with my parents nipped at my heels, it had also shaped me into the woman I am today, sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch of a cabin reflecting on what I’d learned from the past and how I planned to march forward.
I rubbed the scar on my left shoulder from a knife wound . . . inflicted when I was barely eighteen from an inmate who liked girls. That part of my life was over. In prison I expected discrimination and prejudice to shoot poison darts from every direction, but God was my constant companion.
I finished a third mug of coffee and basked in the flavor. The many singing birds and the quiet of nature with its intoxicating scents should have continued to relax me, yet a cloak of darkness threatened to destroy my joy. Instead of a song titled “Sweet Freedom,” memories of last night and this morning droned a cautionary tune into my thoughts.
A distinct feeling of someone watching me prickled the hair on the back of my neck, an acquired safeguard from prison gangs and a few sleazy guards. I dismounted the steps and panned the area. “Who’s out there? What do you want?”
Was it just my imagination? I’d sensed danger too many times to ignore the signs. I set my coffee on the porch step and walked the perimeter of the cabin. The windows were locked from the inside as well as the rear door. Still, those precautions never stopped a serious intruder. I calmed when I didn’t see any footprints in the rain-soaked earth.
But the ground would dry. I gathered pine cones and sticks from the woods and laid them in a pattern no one could avoid. Primitive but that would be my watchdog.
After rinsing the mud from my bare feet with an outside hose, I put my apprehension on hold and indulged in a hot shower. The water massaged my entire body—lavender-scented soap, shampoo, and conditioner delivered the fragrance of a new morning. I stayed longer than I’d been allowed in years. I slathered on real body lotion and body spray that matched the lavender scent, another gift from Edie. She’d used some of the money I’d sent to buy a few clothing pieces, and the jeans and soft sweatshirt against my skin gave me a surge of new normal.
I removed a notepad and pen from my trash bag. On the bus I’d jotted a list of jewelry-making tools and supplies I needed to get started. Pastor Emory’s check helped speed up the process in moving me down the road of self-sufficiency. I must thank him properly and repay him ASAP. On Thursday I’d begin work at a local restaurant, requiring another note of gratitude to Edie and the pastor.
Tears crested. I had to succeed. I would not disappoint my new friends and hoped Officer Hughes didn’t discredit me in their eyes.
I wasn’t alone anymore. My surroundings proved it.
Tires crunched over gravel. A quick peek out the window showed Edie was right on time, and I met her on the porch. The Shelby before prison would have bombarded her with a hug. But this Shelby asked for permission first.
She drew me into an embrace. “If you ever ask me again if a hug is okay, I might have to smack you.”
“Deal. I see your tire’s fixed. Have the authorities made an arrest?”
“Not yet. My brother dug a 9mm bullet out of it. He’s working on the who and why.”
No doubt. “Is there anything I should know?”
“Not to my knowledge.” She sniffed. “Do I smell maple syrup? Peanut butter? Chocolate?”
“My first prison-free breakfast was my favorite as a kid and teen—chocolate chip pancakes smothered in peanut butter and warm syrup. Not just any pancakes, but a recipe from my dad.” I raised a finger. “Don’t remind me of the calories, and yes, I have two left for any taker.”
She moaned. “Best keep them for yourself. Peanuts give me hives, and I tend to wear pancakes on both my thighs.” She patted her legs for emphasis.
“Coffee? An incredible woman bought me an incredible grinder, coffee maker, and beans that brew an incredible taste straight out of heaven.”
“Yes, ma’am. Add a little half-and-half, please.”
“Kindly have a seat on my beautiful pecan-colored leather sofa.” I gestured into the living area. “Ready to see my jewelry designs and help me with my business model?”
Edie wiggled her shoulders. “I’ve thought of little else. You hit my hot button with the word jewelry.”
I reached for a mug inside a cabinet. “Denton McClure stopped by on his horse earlier.”
“Good. We all need friends. Last week he visited me while the kids were doing homework. Timothy was struggling with algebra, and Denton spent an hour helping him. Afterward, Timothy claimed no one had explained algebra so thoroughly before. But Denton is a math teacher.”
Maybe Denton was a good guy. I handed Edie a mug of coffee the way she liked it. We sat side by side on the sofa while I showed her my few pieces made in prison—six necklaces, five pairs of earrings, and two bracelets.
“These are gorgeous, Shelby. So well crafted. I love the green-and-blue labradorite pendant in antique brass. Oh, and look at how you’ve woven the wire to look like lace.”
“Thanks. I owe your friend, the chaplain, for showing me how to create jewelry.”
“Donna told me you were good, but I had no idea how beautiful the design was until now.”
“You should have opened the box when she mailed the pieces here.”
“Wouldn’t have dreamed of it.” Edie examined the back of the pendant.
“Every piece has a tiny wire twisted into a cross on the back.”
“Is this your logo?”
“Yes. You beat me to it.” I turned a few pages in my sketch pad. “Here is an area where I need advice and guidance.”
“Don’t you have a master’s in business?”
“Yes, but not experience.” I set the open page on her lap. “With my logo I want women to see how God is in the redemption business through a wired cross that isn’t a perfect traditional one. Airy. Whimsical. And imaginative.”
She touched the sketch as though it might leap from the page. “The cross is intricate, symbolizing beauty in the ugly mess of our lives.”
“We might have to take up preaching,” I said.
“Don’t get me started.”
I giggled like a schoolgirl. “Some names for the business keep running through my mind. Such as Classy-Chic Jewelry Designs, Your Jewelry Designs, and the third is Klassy-Kreations written with Ks instead of Cs. But I don’t want it to be cutesy either. This morning Simple Pleasures came to me.”
Edie tapped her chin. “What about Simply Shelby in a flowing script?”
“Simply Shelby,” I whispered. “Sounds like me. Perfect.” I flipped to another page in my sketch pad and pointed to my card creation. “On one side of a business-size card, I’d print Simply Shelby in the middle with a twisted cross in the left-hand corner and a thin gold border framing it. On the opposite side, I plan to name each design and add a corresponding Scripture verse. That means an investment in card stock because the back of each piece would reflect a distinctive style and verse.”
Edie let out a dramatic sigh. “You could tie your name in with all promotional items.”
“True. I’m also thinking the online logo could have fluidity to build anticipation for showcasing the jewelry.” I turned a page in my sketchbook. “My target buyers are women from ages thirty and up who enjoy one-of-a-kind designs. One thought is to have selections for the younger woman. Another thought is to create smaller pieces for the young teen or petite woman. All medium priced to make this affordable but not to give my jewelry away.”